In The Blood
by imaninja41
Summary: Well, trying to get into the illegal weapons gig in Gotham wasn't smart. Now, Officer Grayson won't leave me alone. My new foster home is nice though. Just when I start to think I could work this out, my skin is changing color, I can lift a car, and I can shoot energy out of my hands. What's a Tamaranian? Who are my real parents? Am I gonna be a superhero? Transgender character
1. Busted In Gotham

Two figured in cloaks stood outside of an orphanage, one holding a small bundle to her chest, not wanting to let go.

The other one spoke up, her dark black hair swaying gently in the midnight wind. "You don't have to do this, Starfire. We can find another way-"

"No." Starfire said firmly, pulling her hood down to reveal fire red hair. "This is the best way. Once the war is over, I will come back for her. Raven, I know you may not understand, but this is the best way. If I tried to leave her with one of my friends, she would undoubtedly wind up in harm's way. Superheroes shouldn't be raising children."

Raven sighed, nodding. "The seal I put on her will suppress her Tamaranian genetics for just about twenty years. Unless I personally remove it. Once you get back, I will. I mean, it's not like you're going to be gone for twenty years, right?"

Starfire set the small bundle down, the baby inside it began to weep. She turned around, mustering all her strength to walk away from the infant. She never answered Raven's question.

With her gone, Raven kneeled down, brushing a hand across the baby's forehead, "No need to cry, Anya. Your mother will be back."

She reached into her cloak, pulling out a necklace. It was a black metal chain with a dark purple crystal on the end. She placed it around the baby's neck carefully, "If you're ever in trouble, I promise, Anya, I'll be there."

 **FIFTEEN YEARS LATER**

"911!" Brittany screamed, running down the street, not even bothering to wait for any of us.

Tripp cursed, grabbing the bag of guns, and took off after her. I followed suit as the red and blue lights started flashing. Cops were pretty fast, but they didn't know the city like we did. Brittany kept running along the street, screaming, drawing all the attention. That was her job.

One of the three police cars took off after her, and the other two started for Tripp and me. I cursed under my breath, knowing what that meant. Three police cars? For a weapons deal? Someone snitched…

Tripp ducked into an alley and I followed him. We started up the fire escape, going quickly to try and hit the roof. If we got to the roofs, this chase was over. Cops couldn't keep up on the roofs.

Two officers ran into the alley, guns blazing, "Drop the bag, and put your hands in the air!"

I reached into my hoodie, pulling out a can of tear gas that Tripp had bought off of some weapons deal called The Maker. "Piss off, pig!"

I pulled the pin, and dropped the canister into the alley. The hiss of gas was followed by shouting from the officers as they ran out of the alley, coughing and wiping their eyes.

We hit the roof tops, running fast, jumping over alleys, and whenever a chopper flashed it's light we would duck behind anything we could find, usually debris that had been left up on the rooftop by handymen, or storage sheds.

After thirteen blocks, Tripp and I dropped into the alley that Brittany was supposed to meet us at. We were panting, hard, but still tried to stay quiet. After a few minutes, Tripp stood up straight, peering into the bag. "All this fuss, just for a couple semi automatic pistols? Fuck, cops must be bored."

I sighed, "You realize that someone snitched, right?"

He nodded, "Which is unfortunate, because they'll have to deal with us when we find out who did."

"Only five people knew about this." I pointed out. "You, you're girlfriend, me, Brittany, and the guy who we were selling to. I'd put my money on our intended buyer being the snitch."

He nodded, "Me too. Brittany hasn't shown yet, she might have gone back to the hide out."

I rolled my eyes, "You know, Brittany calls it the batcave."

"Brittany is dumb." Tripp sneered. "Dumb, but fast. I swear, girl has to be some kind of metahuman."

"Nah." I said, "She's just to used to running from pimps."

"Now that's mean." Tripp said, shaking his finger at me as we walked out of the alley. The minute Tripp stepped foot out of the alley, a cop came up out of nowhere with a gun. He had it pointed right at Tripp.

"Drop the bag, and put your hands in the air." He said firmly.

One look at his uniform, I knew he wasn't from Gotham. His badge said Bludhaven. Tripp had gotten the guns from a dealer in Bludhaven. They must have made this a joint investigation.

The officer advanced towards Tripp, and I made a snap decision. See, normally I wouldn't put my neck out for anyone. But Tripp is different. He taught me how to run these streets. He's taught other kids, and he's kept them safe. He has empty warehouses and abandoned buildings spray painted with his calling card all over this city, so no matter where you are, you can be safe.

I've seen kid's he's taken under his wing at eleven grow up to work for Penguin, or Two Face. As dangerous as those jobs were, they paid well. You could live off of them. Have a real apartment, in a nice place. If you were smart (and Tripp made sure all of his protégés were smart by the time they left him) you could work your way up the line.

He took nobodies from the streets, and he made them. I owe my life to Tripp. Dozens of kids owed him their lives.

So I tackled the cop.

Tripp didn't think twice about running off as I wrestled for the gun with the cop, grunting as he punched my gut. In response, I shoved my foot into his groin, digging the heel in. He cried out, and the gun fell. I let it scatter away, and started punching his face as hard as I could. "Fuck. Off. You. Pig."

He flipped over, pushing my face into the asphalt. I tried to flip back over, but to my shock, my hands were already cuffed. "That's enough, kid."

The second he starts searching me for weapons, I know I'm done for. I can't get away. He's not a normal cop.

He completes his search, and starts guiding me towards a cop car.

The ride to the police station is silent. I get some satisfaction out of him when he inspects his face in his rearview mirror. The gash above his eyebrow is going to need stitches.

He catches me grinning, and glares. I just grin more.

I'm pushing my luck, and I know it. I've been beat by cops before, and it sucked. They broke my arm, and I had to get it 'fixed' by a less than reputable 'doctor' who operated out of a storage unit.

I sighed, leaning back in the seat.

"Are you hurt?" He asks.

Surprised, I managed to stutter out, "Uh…well, no."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

He nodded, "What's your name?"

I pulled my hood off, my short black hair brushing against my forehead. Thinking about the interrogation room that was probably being prepared for me got my nerves going. I reached up, grabbing the purple charm on my necklace. "Andy."

 **IN TITANS TOWER; WITH RAVEN**

Raven had been sleeping in her bedroom, soundly. Well, as soundly as she normally slept, when a sudden rush of panic hit her. She sat up in bed, looking around. Nothing stood in the shadows waiting to strike her, no evil presence pressing down on her.

She sighed, relaxing. What could have woken her? Her question was answered as she saw the faint glow from beneath her shirt. She pulled on the chain around her neck, a purple crystal dangling from it. The crystal emitted a low glow.

Her eyes widened, "Anya…"

The light from the purple crystal began to change form, changing in consistency to show an image. Anya, hair now short and boyish, is sitting in the backseat of a police car. The lights aren't on.

The officer in the front seat parks the car, and turns around, offering her a small smile. Raven relaxed a little at the familiar face. "Relax, Andy. I promise, no one is gonna hurt you."

Raven frowned, wondering why Anya would go by the name Andy, but chalked it up to kids liking nick names.

Anya snorted, "Sure, Officer…?"

"Grayson." He answered.

Raven made a bee line for the phone, hoping that Dick kept his cell on him at work.


	2. Officer Grayson

Officer Grayson sighed, "Listen, Andy, I know you don't trust me very much. But trust me on this, there's no honor amongst thieves. Any of them would rat you out given a good enough deal. I'm sure you have soe family out there, someone who would miss you if we locked you up. I don't want to do that, but you have to give the DA a reason to spare you."

I glared at him. Tripp wasn't exactly something that capes would worry themselves over. Nothing like Penguin, or Scarecrow, or even Two Face. Tripp isn't making the market for these guns, drugs, or stolen car parts. The afore mentioned heavy hitters are. Tripp is just observing the market, and advising kids who have no other way to make ends meet how to play the field. Tripp is about as good of a guy as you get in Gotham. He genuinely cared about the kids he helped.

"I'm not telling you anything about anyone." I said, leaning back in my chair. The ball is in my court right now. I know that no cop saw me touch any drugs or guns. So they have no way to connect me to the deal that almost went down tonight. All they could get me on was attacking two cops with tear gas and assaulting Officer Grayson. The first two cops probably couldn't pick me out of a line up if asked to, seeing how dark it was in that alley, and how tear gas had probably caused their eyes to shut.

One charge of assault against a cop, against a minor. I almost wanted to smirk. I'd be out in a few months, and Juvenile Hall wasn't as bad as most parents wanted their kids to think.

"Andy, just give me a name, and I can get you off these charges." Officer Grayson pressed.

There was a knock on the glass, and the door opened. A cop who looked like something out of a TV show walked in, a file in his hands. He was chubby, mid forties, graying hair, and a face with wrinkles that showed so many frown lines, it concerned me. "Might as well end it, Grayson."

Officer Grayson turned around, and through the reflection in the mirror, I could tell he was trying very hard not to glare. "Detective Fisher?"

Detective Fisher ignored Grayson, setting the file down in front of me. "Ya know what that is?"

"I haven't read it, so obviously not." I snapped back. I already hated this guy. I normally didn't like cops in general, but it was more than that. Grayson was a decent guy, so far, and I respected that. He was trying to do his job, and unlike most of the cops outside of this interrogation room, he wasn't trying to break my arm, or my nose to get me to talk.

Tripp was firm about teaching us one thing. Not every cop is bad. Most are. But the ones that treat you respectfully, the ones who are decent towards you, respect them back. Don't give them a hard time. It was his way of teaching us manners, I guess.

"This right here, is you're fucking life, ya gutter rat." Grayson really didn't seem to like this development, but he kept his mouth shut. He was an officer, but this guy was a detective. "Grayson here was wrong, ya ain't got no family. Little disappointment here, was found on the steps of a group home, only a week old. Mom was probably some dried out hooker, couldn't make enough money on her back to feed the failed abortion you were. On top of that, yer name isn't Andy."

Oh no. No, no, no. The anger that had been bubbling to the surface was cooled with a huge dose of fear. This was always what I feared most about getting caught. I was terrified of going back to that name, that identity, to the glared of social workers and the hateful spewing words of bigots, screaming of my future in the flames of hell.

"Yer name is Anya, and yer bitchy little ass ran away from yer last foster family, because…" He lifted the folder, opening it to the last page, "They made you go to church."

He tossed the file down in disgust. "Yer a sick fucking kid. Good people take you in, out of the goodness of their hearts, and when they try to teach you right from wrong, your cross dressing ass runs off."

Memorize flash through my mind. They were the Duncan family. A wife, a husband, one son (16 at the time I knew him), and a golden retriever for a dog. Perfect American family. Almost. They wanted the cookie cutter dream of a white picket fence, a wife, a husband, a son, and a daughter.

I was supposed to complete that image. Too bad that when I admitted to them that I was Trans, they went from a loving family to a pack of angry dogs.

I snorted, looking up at Officer Grayson, and ignoring Detective Cunt. "Officer Grayson, next time you're walking down the street, and some 'gutter rat' spits at you, calls you pick, or even throws something at you, calm yourself before you respond. They're only acting that way because a cop who acts like Mr. Cunt over here influenced the pig stereotype."

Before Detective Cunt could respond, I spoke over him. "If the Duncan family really told you all they did was make me go to church, not only are they some of the worst bigots I've ever met, they're lying whores." I leaned back in my chair, letting the front legs lift off the ground. "Church they were at, was one of the really bad ones. Not only thought that homosexual and transgender acts were curable, with what they called 'sexual correction therapy'. In case you're wondering, it's worse than it sounds."

I closed my eyes, remembering the man that had subjected me to that. "Some therapist with no credible degree thought that the reason behind homosexual and transgender people existing, was that the brain got confused, and the way to correct the issue was to force the person into traditional feminine or masculine sex positions."

Officer Grayson looked like he nearly wanted to vomit, and Detective Cunt actually looked a bit ashamed. "They forced me to take my clothes off, held me down, and had their son assume the traditionally masculine role. Before you start making a rape report, he didn't … you know, uh, penetrate or anything. He just kind of… postured up. They made me lay there for two hours. Once they let me up, and let me put my clothes back on, I booked it." I let my chair drop to the ground, put my arms on the table, and rested my chin on my right forearm. "I wasn't ever going to let them do that to me again."

Detective Ashamed Cunt left the room, taking the file with him. His reaction was pretty normal, most people I told about the incident were to disgusted but the idea of it to say anything in response.

Officer Grayson reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "Andy."

I perked up, not used to many adults still using that name after finding out my legal one. "Listen, I'm going to call a friend of mine, alright? He's a social worker, one that I trust. I'm going to talk to him about getting you placed somewhere a bit nicer than your last home."

He got up, walking over to my side of the table. He hugged me, which made me stiffen up, not used to gestures like that at all. He pulled away, grabbing my shoulders and looking me right in the eye. "I'm not going to press charges against you for attacking me. If I recall correctly, I didn't announce myself as a police officer. Anyone would attack a person for pulling a gun on them."

He left the room, and my mouth fell open. I found myself smiling a little, wondering at my luck. Officer Grayson wasn't just a decent cop, he was a pretty outstanding person.

 **WITH DICK**

When I grabbed my cell phone to call the social worker, I nearly balked. Seven missed calls from Raven. No voicemails. Bad sign.

I called her back, and she picked up on the first ring. "Dick!"

"Raven, what's-"

"The girl you picked up tonight, Anya-"

"Raven, his name is Andy."

"The last time I saw her, her name was Anya, and she was only five days old."

I nearly dropped my phone, "Raven?"

"Anya, Andy, whoever that kid is, is Starfire's child. I promised I wouldn't tell, but it's been fifteen years, and she still hasn't come back for her."

"You… you said you didn't know where Starfire went."

"She begged me not to tell anyone, but I don't see much of a choice now. Anya comes first, from here on out. Starfire's planet is caught up in a civil war. I think it's still going through it, because I would sense it if she died, and if she's alive, she should have come back by now."

"You think?!" Dick hissed. "Fifteen years, Raven! You never said anything about this kid…" A sudden thought struck him, panic flooding his system. "Raven… did she tell you who the dad was?"

"No." She whispered. "Dick, promise me, Anya isn't going to jail."

Dick swallowed, "His name is Andy. And I promise, he won't go to jail."

With that he hung up on Raven, and dialed the social worker. No one answered, so Dick left a brief message, explaining Andy's situation, and his history. He ended the message with, "I need you to find him a home that doesn't have any prejudices against people like him."

With that, Dick went to go fill out the paperwork on tonight's bust, making sure he lied enough so Andy wouldn't be able to be charged with anything.

Halfway through, he stopped, and sighed. He allowed himself to whisper a very dangerous combination of words. "Andy… Grayson."


	3. Brownstone

"Are you sure you don't want to press charges?" Grayson asked me. Hours ago, he had taken me out of the interrogation room, after explaining the charges were dropped. He had me sitting at his desk now, filling out forms that said I had no idea about any gun deal, or that Grayson had been a cop.

I shook my head, "None. And I don't want what I told you to go into any incident reports. If word got out, I'd be on every front page in Gotham. News stations would use my story to stir up the people. I don't wanna be some poster child for the LGBT community about abusive churches."

He nodded, sighing. "I just… what they did to you… they shouldn't just be able to get away with it."

"They didn't." I assured him. "I slashed all their tires, all three of their cars."

He chuckled, "Revenge feel good?"

"Well, I would have rather chopped their dicks off, and shoved them down the mom's throat, but time didn't permit for such fantasies." I joked.

He didn't laugh. Instead he just looked really grossed out. "Andy, when your social worker gets here, I wanna see if he can get you into therapy."

"Don't want it." I said firmly.

"The only way you're going to be allowed to, what's it called, um, fully transition? Is if you talk to a therapist and they make sure that you're ready for it." He explained. "And yes, he might ask you to talk about what happened. You didn't have any problems talking about it earlier."

I completely ignored him about the 'incident' with the Duncan family. "Wait, why… why would they let me transition?"

Officer Grayson smiled as a man walked up to the desk, "Maybe Paul can explain it better."

The man, Paul, stuck out his hand for me to shake, and I did. "Pleased to meet you Andy, Dick here has told me a lot about you."

I stifled a giggle, "Dick?"

Officer Grayson cleared his throat, "Um, my name is Richard. Dick is just a nick name."

"That's fucking hilarious." I said, loving the way he practically deflated.

Paul continued, "I managed to find a home that I think will really fit you." He pulled out a folder, handing it to me. Inside were pictures of two men, smiling and holding hands in front of a brownstone. "Arnold and Chris are some of the best foster parents I've ever met. They mostly deal with older boys, a few from similar backgrounds as you. Poverty, criminal activity, you know, what most foster kids get into."

"Older kids?" I asked, "Like, older than me?"

He nodded, "Normally, they don't take anyone under sixteen. Mostly because those are very difficult years to place a boy, and they have a real knack for putting every kid I send their way on a path to success. They've worked with about six so far, but they only have one living with them right now. His name is Cody, and he won't be there much longer. He's finishing up culinary school, and he's got a job waiting for him after he graduates."

I nodded slowly as Paul kept rambling. "Two of the boys they've taken in have gone into the military, I believe one is now a fire fighter. One of them managed to get a full ride to college, and he's studying bio mechanics. I think the last one is on Broadway now. Not too sure about him. He never liked talking about his goals much."

"Why take me then? I'm only fifteen." I pointed out, closing the folder, and possibly closing the door on the nicest foster home I've ever seen. The brownstone looked huge.

"I called them and explained your unique situation. Arnold was a bit hesitant, but Chris wouldn't even consider not taking you in." He smiled. "Once you finish with the paperwork here, we can collect whatever things you have, and be on our way."

I know where all my stuff is… my clothes, second pair of shoes, small stash of money and valuables, my backpack, my duffle bag, my sleeping bag, my toiletries. It's all in one of Tripp's safe houses. No way am I leading the cops there, so I take a deep breath, and gestured to what I was wearing, "This is all I've got. And the stuff they confiscated when I came in."

Grayson looked over the paperwork, nodding, "Looks to be in order. Let's get your stuff."

The guy behind the desk didn't even look twice as he handed me a zip lock baggy with a few things in it. My necklace with the purple crystal (which I immediately put back on), my wallet, my pocket knife, and half a pack of gum. I opened my wallet, and scowled at it being empty. "I had forty dollars in here."

The officer behind the counter glared at me, "You must be confused."

I flipped him off, knowing full well that arguing with him about my money wasn't going to bring it back. Paul rushed me out of the building immediately, not to keen on getting into a fight with a cop.

 **WITH DICK:**

Dick finally relaxed with Andy gone, reaching into the garbage can by his desk to pull out the Chinese food box Andy had eaten for breakfast after spending the night at the station. He pulled the fork out, tucking it into a plastic evidence bag. Under the table, he texted Bruce.

 _Can I stop by tonight after work? Need a DNA test asap._

A few minutes ticked by until he got a response.

 _Of course. Damian would love to see you. Although he wouldn't admit it._

The thought of seeing 'Little D' made him excited, but that quickly crashed when he realized that Damian would find out about Andy… and then Andy might possibly be Dick's son… oh good lord.

Dick slumped down in his seat, bracing himself for all of the spite and sass that would come out of Damian's mouth later on. He could hear the quips now.

 **AT THE BROWNSTONE:**

The minute Paul parked outside the brownstone, the door was thrown open. The first thing to walk out was a man with spiked blonde hair. He wore a white button up shirt, dark jeans, and some expensive looking dress shoes. His eyes were covered by sun glasses, and he had diamond stud ear rings. He walked towards us, a certain swagger in his walk that gave off an air of confidence.

He walked right up to me, giving a small smile to Paul, then focusing entirely on me, "Andy, right?"

I nodded, "Uh, You're Chris?"

He nodded, grinning, "That would be me. Andy, I'm sure you've already guessed, but let me just make sure you know. No one here is going to give you a hard time about transitioning, ok?"

I felt a lump rise in my throat, and my eyes get watery, but I blinked a little, refusing to let it show. After so long of getting sneered at, yelled at, or outright assaulted because of being trans, hearing something like that, it almost made me wanna hug this guy. I don't like hugs. But so far, I like Chris.

Paul cleared his throat, "If you can sign here? I have to go check up on three other kids today."

Chris signed the papers, then turned to me, "Where's your things?"

I gestured to what I was wearing, a dark red hoodie, a black v-neck, dirty blue jeans, and some torn up converse. His eyes widened as Paul drove off, then he grinned. "We get to go shopping then. Come on in, let me introduce you to-"

Before he finished, a boy a few years older than me with his hair up in a messy bun rushed out, panic in his eyes, "Dad, where's the sauce pan!?"

Chris turned to me, "Andy, this is Cody. He's in culinary school. Cody this is-"

Cody grabbed Chris' shoulders, "The curry is billing! I need the sauce pan!"

Chris frowned, shruggin Cody's hands off. "Cody, you put it in the dishwasher."

Cody let out a yelp, and took off into the house. Chris sighed, "Ignore him when he gets like that. I'm told all culinary students have a very high stress level in midterms."

I nodded slowly, and before either of us could continue the conversation, the biggest dog I've ever seen walked down the stairs, fixing me in his sight. He had black and white fur, but it grew like a wolf, a few inches long, and longer around the neck. My first instinct was to run, cause that's what you do when you're on the street, and some big ass dog looks at you like you're a T bone. However, I managed to remember that I wasn't robbing the place, and the dog might not attack me if I just stood still.

Chris noticed the tension, and smiled, "Harvey! Come here boy, meet Andy."

This dogs head came up to my shoulder as he stood in front of me, sniffing. "Oh, don't be afraid of Harvey, he's a mix between a husky and a mastiff. I'm told that the Husky they bred him with as actually 80% wolf, but we didn't bother to confirm it."

"You have a wolf…" I mumbled.

Chris chuckled. "Harvey is very friendly."

Easy for you to say, he isn't glaring at you. Harvey, as if sensing my fear, friggin smirked at me. I kid you not, this dog smirked at me. I knew exactly what he wanted to say too. 'This is my house, and if I get hungry, your ass is dinner. Do you hear me? I will snap you like a twig. You. Are. My. Fillet. Minion.'

I swallowed my fear, and slowly lifted my hand, patting his head gently. "Hi Harvey."

He barked, and I just about pissed myself. Chris put an arm around my shoulder, guiding me past the dog, "I think he likes you. Anyways, this floor had the living room, kitchen and dining room. There's a screen door in the dining room that leads outside, to Arnold's garden. He mostly works on that himself, but on Sundays, he might ask you for help. Beneath us is the ground floor, we don't really use it. It has a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and its own kitchen. We rent it out sometimes. Beneath that is the basement."

"How many floors does this place have?" I asked.

"Five. Basement, ground floor, this one, and two above." He lead me up the stairs, and gestured to the two doors on this floor. "That's me and Arnold's room, leads out to the terrace. That other one is unoccupied right now."

He lead me up to the top floor, and gestured to the three doors there. "That's the bathroom you and Cody share, that's Cody's room, and this last one, you guessed it, it's yours."

He opened the door, showing me a room I was almost terrified to stay in. The floors were dark, blackish wood, a grey rug with red and white patterns on it covered the floor beneath the bed. The wall the bed's headboard was against was exposed brick, and the bed itself must have been a queen, covered in dark grey and bright white stripped comforter, and matching pillows. There was a nightstand on the right side of the bed; the wood looked like it was good quality, but had been intentionally treated to look like cheap crate wood (probably for artistic reasons), but with the drawer handles and padded legs, it looked great. A dresser on the opposite wall was made with the same style.

Two paintings hung in the room, one was an oil painting of the Brooklyn Bridge, as heavy rain poured down. The other was of the Empire state building, with an unrealistically starry sky. You could never see stars at night around here.

Still, I liked the room. The furniture wood reminded me of the crates and broken boards that usually littered the warehouses I slept in. It felt kind of like home. Then again, home is an abstract concept to me.

Chris interrupted my train of thought. "Mikey had this room just a few months ago. He was here since he was sixteen, chose all the furniture in here. I think some of his things are still in the closet…"

"Which one was he?" I asked, "Actor, military, or fire fighter?"

"Fire fighter." He answered. "He planned on renting the ground floor from us, but he put in a station so far away, he needed to rent closer to it. He comes over every other Friday for dinner. You might see him this week."

I raised an eyebrow, "He still comes around?"

He nodded, "Yes. That's most people's reaction, but we maintain a pretty strong bond with most of our foster children. Oscar, he's in the Marines, active duty. And Patrick went into the Navy, oh you should here those boys bicker about their branches, every time they're in the same room. We haven't had them over in a few months, but Oscar is planning on being back here around his birthday."

He seemed to snap out of his reminiscing, and looked me up and down, "Right… we still need to go shopping."

I nodded, "Yeah, cause I don't have anything besides what I'm wearing."

He grinned, "Perfect opportunity to max out my credit cards."

 **Had so much fun writing this chapter! Review please, it would mean a lot to me!**


	4. Family Dinner

All of the foster parents I had ever had waited until the government sent them a check for me, and then dropped me off at Wal-Mart. They would wait somewhere in the store, letting me shop for myself, and just paid for whatever I picked out. It wasn't until I had been with the Duncan family that my usual choice of baggy t-shirts, boy jeans, converse, and hoodie had been an issue. Once I was with them, my wardrobe was decided for me. Skirts, dressed, sparkly leggings, and other girly things that had practically forced me to come out, to try and avoid them.

Which turned out brilliantly.

Chris was turning out to be very different. Chris took me right to the mall. And by the mall, I mean the nice stores. Upper level. Thirty dollars for a t-shirt.

He looked around the stores for a moment, pondering something, then turned to me, "What would you consider your style to be?"

I looked down at my clothes, then back up at him. "I like dark colors."

He nodded, "Shorts or jeans?"

"Jeans."

"Button ups or t-shirts?"

"T-shirts."

"Any preferences on shoes or jackets?"

"Converse and boots, hoodies."

He nodded, smiling, "Let's try Cotton On!"

Something I found out very quickly, is that Chris really liked clothes. Whether they were for him, or anyone else. Before we had even left Cotton On, I had three bags filled with clothes. And he still didn't think it was enough. He dragged me to three more stores, before finally letting me collapse onto a bench in the food court.

"Well, this was a lovely little shopping trip, don't you think?" He asked pleasantly as he sipped on a lemonade slushy from a smoothie stand.

"I've never shopped this much in my life." I groaned.

"Really? This must be an amazing day for you." He joked.

I grunted, feeling way more drained than I should just from shopping.

"So, Andy. Just so we're on the same page here, how far have you transitioned?"

I sighed, "I have a binder on, and I try to look like a boy. That's honestly all I could do."

He nodded, "I promise, once you get situated in school, Arnold and I will get you a therapist to talk to. He'll see what stage you're at mentally, and well go from there, ok?"

I nodded, thoughts of going to doctors and surgeons flooding my mind. Getting my body to truly reflect who I was. Not having to wear a binder anymore… being comfortable looking at myself in a mirror. I had never thought I would actually be able to achieve those things, but here Chris comes along, and starts offering them to me. Or the possibility for getting them anyways.

On the way home, Chris told me what he and Arnold do for a living. Arnold owned two restaurants, and a night club. One of the restaurants was a three star (which was good apparently), the other was just starting out, but apparently was a successful sushi restaurant. The nightclub was called The Excel, and he used it to feature a lot of local talent, bands and such.

Chris was an online history tutor on the weekends, and weekdays, he ran a thrift store in town that gave its profit to local soup kitchens. I was starting to view Chris as this all around nice guy. It wasn't exactly a bad thing to be a nice guy. But I would never be able to relate to him. I was about the farthest thing from nice that you could get.

When we got home, Chris flung the door open, and paused. He then broke out into a grin, and called into the kitchen, "I TAKE IT MIDTERMS ARE GOING WELL?"

Cody poked his head out from the kitchen, his hair still up in a messy bun. "Chef Alejandro told me that my curry could compare to some he's had in four star restaurants."

Chris gestured towards the kitchen, "So, what's for dinner?"

"Seeing as I didn't know what Andy liked, I just made a little bit of everything. I figured we would eat family style tonight. After all, we're studying that next week. I'd like to be on top of my game when it happens." He answered, walking back into the kitchen.

"Is Arnold home yet?" Chris asked.

"Yeah. Well, I think I heard the front door open and close about an hour ago. He might of said hello, but I don't remember responding." He called back to Chris.

Chris sighed, "Of course you wouldn't." He turned back to me, smiling. "Why don't you go put all your new clothes away? Cody will call us all down for dinner when it's done."

I nodded, "Ok."

I had about half of it folded/hung up when I heard Cody scream something. I think he was speaking in French. Either way, I saw it as a sign to come downstairs.

Cody had set the table, and everything looked so straight, he must have used a ruler to place everything so precisely. There were two big pots on the table, sitting on dish towels, and three smaller ones between them.

Chris was already there, standing on his tip toes, kissing a much taller man. Must be Arnold. As Chris pulled away, I got my first good look at Arnold. He was much tanner than Chris, which wasn't saying much because Chris was Snow White. Arnold was dressed in a pair or cargo shorts and a navy blue v-neck. He had glasses, and a silver hoop ear ring in his right ear. He nodded towards me, sticking out his hand for me to shake.

I appreciated not getting pulled into a hug. "Andy, I presume."

I nod, "Nice to meet you, Arnold."

The table has only two chairs on one side, two on the other. Arnold and Chris sit down on one side, which left me sitting next to Cody. Before anyone touched their forks, Cody started talking about the food.

"I made a Sheppard's pie, baked ravioli, vegetable fried rice, French onion soup, and I fried up that shrimp, just because it was about to go bad." Cody turned to me as Chris reached for that soup. "What kind of food do you usually eat?"

"I'll eat hot dogs, fries, Philly Cheese Steak subs, when I can find them cheap, usually." I answered. "Food stands and trucks are normally where I get food. It doesn't really matter though; I'll eat just about anything."

Arnold had scooped himself both Sheppard's Pie and fried rice when he finally asked me something. "Andy, I'm not trying to single you out, or try to make you feel uncomfortable, but this is a very serious question. Chris and I are both very proud of the children we foster. Keeping that privilege is a very difficult thing to do."

"And we feel like we've done a lot of good with that." Chris said, reaching over and holding Arnold's hand. I took the opportunity to scoop some of the fried rice onto my plate, along with ravioli. "Our worst nightmare would be losing our ability to help the kids that need a home."

Arnold continued. "So, what we're going to ask you, Andy, is to take a drug test."

I paused, mouth full of fried rice. It was really good, to be honest. Best I've ever had. I swallowed, "Uh, sure. I never did drugs."

Arnold raised an eyebrow, "Never? You've been on the streets of Gotham City for three years, and you've never tried any drug?"

"I thought about it, but people that do drugs always end up in jail, or losers. I didn't wanna be like them. Even just pot heads, they start doing dumb shit. Get sloppy, get arrested." I explained.

Chris smiled, "You're a very smart kid, Andy. How is the ravioli?"

I popped one in my mouth, "Spicy."

Cody smirked, "I usually make them with ghost pepper sauce."

"If you ever try and trick me into eating anything hotter than buffalo wing sauce, I'll cut off your man bun." I said.

Cody snickered, "Dude, touch my hair, and I'll throw you off the balcony."

"Ever been curb stomped before?" I asked.

"Nah, why?"

"Just thinking the curb out front could use a splash of color. Red would go nice with the surrounding foliage." I said, finishing off my rice.

Arnold sighed, "I thought Mikey was gone."

At my puzzled expression, Chris explained, "Mikey used to banter with Cody all the time. It got physical a few times. If you two boys get into a fight, I swear, you better take it outside. Every damn thing in this house is expensive. You break anything, I will make you work at the soup kitchens for a month."

Cody shivered, "But… they don't have a spice rack."

I raised an eyebrow, "Really? That's your biggest concern?"

"They don't have sauce pans either." He hissed, "Or a proper rice steamer."

 **LATER THAT NIGHT:**

Turns out that Cody refused to let anyone do the dishes except him. Something about how no one knows how to soak properly. So I had gone up to my room, and settled into a pair of pajamas that Chris had insisted looked 'adorable' on me. Some light blue bottoms with SpongeBob characters on them, and a white sleeveless top with the pineapple house on it.

I had been leafing through the pamphlet of the new school I would be going to, Gotham County High School. It was said to have good sports teams and academic teams. But every school said that about themselves.

There was a knock on my door, and I said "Come in."

Arnold opened the door, holding up a plastic cup with a blue lid. "Fill it up, champ."

I took it to the bathroom, did my business, and tried not to let any of the pee drip down the sides. Arnold squinted at the lid, which was supposed to change color or something if drugs were detected. After a few seconds, he nodded, smiling. "Welcome to the family, Andy."

 **WITH DICK, IN THE BATCAVE:**

"Has your alien whore never heard of birth control?" Damian sassed.

Dick sighed, "Little D, Kori was not a whore. She was on Earth for years, and I was the only guy she ever went to bed with."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Her costume tells quite the different story."

Dick let his forehead hit the table. "Damian, the minute I get this sorted out, I'm taking you to a sexual harassment seminar."

"What's going on?" Tim walked into the cave, and his eyes flicked to the screen. Seeing Dick's picture, next to some boy named Andy Doe, and the DNA test loading, brought him up to speed immediately. "You did not…"

Damian pointed his finger accusingly at Dick. "Grayson has polluted the world with his spawn."

"Who's the mom?" Tim dared to ask.

"Kori." Dick sighed. "Raven finally came clean, after fifteen years."

Tim stood there a moment, blinking, contemplating the situation. He then turned towards the stairs leading up into the manor, "ALFRED! WE NEED YOUR HELP!"

Damian was not one to let the matter go, and, crossing his arms laid into Dick once more. "It wasn't enough for you to just be a disappointment here, was it? You had to spread your genetic inferiority to other planets. How the Tamaranian's will weep in shame over this contamination."

Dick ground his teeth together, "I. Get. It."

A few seconds past, before the butler descended the stairs, "Whatever is the matter, Master Timothy?"

Tim pointed to the screen, "I don't know what to say to Dick. Bruce isn't here. Please do something."

Alfred, to his credit, didn't even hesitate. He walked forward, placing a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Master Richard, do not fret over maybes. Only think of what you know."

Almost as if agreeing with him, the computer beeped. Every pair of eyes in the room flicked to the screen, to see the truth.

Richard Grayson and Andy Doe had no relation.

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	5. Take The Dog For A Walk

Dick nearly had heart failure, out of pure relief. No overdue child support. But once it hit him that he wasn't the father, the question popped. "Wait… so who is his dad?" _Who did Kori sleep with, who wasn't me?_

Damian let out a sigh of relief. "It seems I will not have to put up with a younger, goofier version of you."

The screen beeped again, a pop up, reading "Match Found."

Tim was the brave one, reaching forward and clicking on it. Instantly, a photo of Jason Todd flashed on the screen, showing that he was the father.

Dick couldn't contain himself. He let out a scream. Not just any scream, one of pure terror. They had all heard similar screams, form victims on the streets.

Tim shivered, coming to the same realization. "Oh my God… Jason is a _father_."

"What's going on in here?"

All four whirled around to see Bruce standing there, his eyes locked on the screen as his usually mask of indifference faded away to reveal an expression of true horror.

Damian tore off his Robin mask, tossing it to the ground. His utility belt and boots quickly followed it. Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Master Damian, what are you doing?"

Damian pulled his tunic off, "I'm giving up for the night."

Tim sighed, "Honestly."

Damian pulled off his pants, leaving himself in only a pair of boxers. He scooped up his costume, laying it down on a table, and heading up the stairs, "I am going to sleep tonight. There is currently too much idiocy polluting Gotham City, and this rapidly growing family, for me to function tonight."

Tim looked over at Bruce, who still hadn't looked away from the screen. "Does this mean I can help you with the gun deal at the docks?"

Bruce removed his shoes, then his shirt. Alfred sighed. Bruce removed his trousers, leaving himself in only his boxers and a wife beater. "I'm going to bed."

 **WITH ANDY:**

"Wake up Andy." Someone shook my shoulder, "Andy, it's six."

I groaned, "Why would I want to know that?"

Chris pulled the pillow off of my face, "Andy, school starts at nine."

I sat straight up in bed, glaring. "Then enlighten me why I get woken up at six."

"This I when Cody makes breakfast. After breakfast, can you take Harvey for a walk?" He asked.

I stretched, putting my feet on the ground. "Sure."

It wasn't until Chris left that I remembered Harvey was the Husky Mastiff mix that wanted to eat me. Well, Cody had better have made one damn fine last meal.

I pulled on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt with the Gotham Blades logo on it, and black converse. Walking down the stairs, I could smell something amazing, and when I got to the kitchen, Cody was laying a tray of hot pockets on the table.

I raised an eyebrow, and he beamed up at me, "Try one, try one!"

I grabbed one from the plate, and took a bite. It was amazing! It had Italian sausage, cheese, bacon, and eggs inside. The bread was toasted and the eggs were so smooth I almost mistook them for extra cheese. To top it off, I think he drizzled syrup on top of it.

I looked up at him, locking gazes. "You're gonna make some girl really happy one day."

"Nope." He said, taking one himself. "But I'll make a guy really happy one day."

"Oh." I said, "Cool."

"Who are you going to make happy?" He asked, "Girls or boys?"

"Both are cool." I admitted. "I think I like girls a little better though. But I'm never getting married."

Cody nodded, "To each their own."

I finished up my breakfast burrito, downed a glass of orange juice, and then went in search for the dog. Turns out, the living room (which I just now set foot into) had a large L shaped couch made of a cream colored leather. Next to it, sat a huge dog bed. I had a suspicion that it was actually two large dog beds sewn together to accommodate the monster of a dog in front of me. He was sleeping, I think, but when I stepped into the room, he cracked an eyelid, giving me a quick once over.

"Um… Hey Harvey." He closed his eyes again. "Harvey, I have to walk you now."

At the word walk, Harvey perked up, stepping off his bed, and trotting towards the front door. By the door was a coat rack, where a thick leather leash was dangling. I clipped it to a matching collar he was already wearing, and timidly opened the front door. He jerked forward, taking me with him. The front door was left wide open as I jogged to keep up with him.

Based on his pace, this was just a brisk stroll for him. For me, this was a very intense jog. He walked three houses over, were an older woman was bending over flower pots, planting seeds. He barked once, and she looked up at him, breaking out into a grin. "Oh, hello there Harvey!"

She reached into her pocket, pulling out a sugar cube. She tossed it into the air, "Here you are!"

Harvey caught it with his tongue, lapping it up into his jaws. He leaned over the gate, licked her face, and started walking again. She called after me, "Good morning young man!"

"Mornin' lady!" I shouted back, struggling to keep up with the dog.

Harvey walked two blocks down, peeing on trees every now and then, frightening anyone who saw him. A cat walked in front of him, and I was fully prepared to stand by, horrified, as he tore it to shreds, but instead, he licked it a few times, and then turned around, heading back towards the brown stone.

Halfway there, I tripped, and he didn't seem to mind. Just kept trotting, dragging me along the ground. Now, let me explain something, I am not exactly short. I mean, average height for a girl is about 5'4, and I'm 5'6 (I really wanna get taller, I mean, I AM a man, I'd like to at least get to 5'9). I'm around 135 pounds. I am not cut, but I've got enough muscle to pass as athletic. Running from the cops while carrying stolen tires is a great way to exercise. My body was something I was very proud of (ya know, except for certain parts) and this dog just strung me along like a limp noodle. He dragged me for an entire block, and then pulled me up the steps, and into the still open door.

I released his leash (probably should have done that earlier, this is a pretty well trained dog) and let myself flop onto the wooden floor. I was honestly prepared to go back to sleep right then and there, but Arnold dashed over to me, pulling me into a sitting position.

"My God, Andy, are you okay?"

I held up my arms, revealing bloody elbows and forearms. My face really hurt, so I assumed that was cut up too. "Your dog does not like me."

Chris sighed, patting Harvey's head, "He thinks' he's a puppy, doesn't know his own strength."

Arnold tousled my hair, "Let's get you bandaged up, huh? I'll drive you and Cody to school."

 **TWO HOURS LATER:**

Arnold, unlike Chris, wasn't very talkative while driving. He dropped Cody off at his tech school, and then dropped me off at my high school. "Principal's office is right over there. He likes to greet new students personally."

So, logically, I walked into the front office, and the secretary pointed down the hall. Tapping on the door to his office, I walked in. He was a black man, about six feet tall, broad shoulders, and a beard. He smiled at me, "You must be Andy Doe."

I nodded, and sat down when he gestured towards a chair. He leaned forward, "Andy, I like to think of our teachers as being very understanding. Most of them get involved in their student's lives, to try and motivate the better. Our school is a place of equal opportunity, and our students are held to a certain level of equality. We do not tolerate hateful slurs, or violent actions against anyone."

For a moment, I was really impressed. I thought that perhaps in the three years that I had been a bit out of touch with normal people, society might have evolved to the point where everyone was as accepting as Arnold and Chris were.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes suddenly going cold. "However, as much as we will be tolerant, and try to assist our students, we do not tolerate trouble makers, or illegal activity."

Oh boy.

"I know everything that goes on in this school, Andy. If things start taking a sudden turn for the worst, I'll know where to look. I have a lot of friends on the police force, and I know what you've done."

"Correction." I smirked. "You know what an arrogant detective with a cunty attitude accused me of. Those charges were dropped, and the arresting officer himself apologized."

"Ah, yes, Officer Grayson. He's known for being a bit to lenient when children are involved. Me, I've seen children toss another child to the ground and stomp on them until his heart stopped beating. I know what children are capable of, and you, Andy, will be watched very closely here."

Well, isn't he nice?

He handed me my class schedule, and I flipped him off on my way out of the room. I was not very impressed with my classes. Not at all. English 1, Algebra 1, Biology, PE, American History, and Acting 1.

I groaned, exhausted already. School was somewhere I never thought I would end up. Now that I was here, all my instincts were screaming at me to run back to Tripp's safe house and get ready to start hustling again.

But one thought of Chris had me shaking my head, and walking off to English.

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	6. Football VS Hockey

English passed by with no issues. The teacher was too distracted by getting a seating chart written down, and going over the syllabus, to actually teach anything. He did mention that the majority of the tests we would read were going to be short stories by lesser known authors.

Algebra was an entirely different story. The teacher didn't give a damn where we sat; she just jumped straight into explaining what an exponent was. I found myself scribbling in a three subject notebook, trying to keep up with her explanations. I didn't have many goals for high school, but one that I wanted was to be good at math. Every loser on the streets is still counting off his fingers, but every successful person I've ever read about got great grades in high school, including math, and then moved onto college, where they had harder math. I want to make the most of this opportunity, for as long as I have it, and math seems to be the deciding factor of whether or not you will succeed in life.

In biology, this guy with slicked back white hair and a bowtie ranted for half an hour about cells, and the powerhouse of the cell, mitochondria. All I had learned by the end of that class was that I needed to switch out into an easier science credit.

Lunch, everyone crowded the hallways, rushing to try and not miss whatever they were serving on the first day. I lagged behind, knowing full well that Cody had given me a bagged lunch this morning. I found an empty table in the corner of the lunchroom, and opened my pack to find some kind of chicken pasta, fruit salad, and some kind of pudding with bumps in it. A big thermos of fruit juice topped it off.

Like always, his cooking was amazing, and by the tie lunch was over, I was really ready for a nap.

Lucky for me, PE was next. While everyone was assigned their locker numbers, I went outside and slipped behind the bleachers, and used my red hoodie as a pillow. I really love this hoodie, I've had it for two years, and it had never failed me when I needed a pillow, or a blanket, or even a tablecloth. If I had a favorite thing, it would be this hoodie.

I was about halfway through my nap, when someone grabbed my ankles, and yanked me out from under the bleachers. As several voices laughed, I jumped up, my mind immediately thinking that I was gonna get jumped.

But instead, some guy in a football jersey is grinning like a bandit. There's five guys behind him, all in football jerseys. "Well, looks like a freshman found his way onto the field."

"Hey, that's the kid that the psychology professor was telling us about. He's a girl."

The mood, while it wasn't pleasant before, turned extremely sour. "Ah. Well maybe we should give it a taste of what being a man is like."

He slaps a hand onto my shoulder, shoving me into one of the taller guys, who shoved me forward into another guy, and before he can shove me into another guy, I grabbed his arm and punched the fucker in the nose.

He staged back, falling onto his ass, and everyone else lost their minds. One guy kneeled down next to him; two other guys grabbed me, and held me against the edge of the bleachers. Running through my odds really quickly, I knew I couldn't fight them all. These were big guys. Seniors, probably varsity, built like pros. I might be able to outrun them. They ran after balls, I ran from police dogs. But that was on the street where there's alleys, fire escapes, and traffic to catch attention. Here, it's an open stretch from the bleachers to the gym.

If I don't get away, these guys are going to beat me. Probably not going to be the worst beating I've ever had, but it'll still suck. I've already got bandaged over my arms, and one on my face from the lovely little walk me and Harvey shared. I do not need to go home with any more. Social workers ask awkward questions if they check up on you, and you look like the entire Gotham Blades team (Gotham City's Ice Hockey team) each took a shot at you.

So, I do this trick I learned from this girl that Tripp had me spar with a few times. Had a weird name. Brantley, I think.

I lean back a little, and then kicked both my legs up, doing a split in midair. And yes, it was very painful. But my feet caught each roided up football player in the face, and when they dropped me to grab their noses, I made a run for it. I had to bulldoze into the guy who had dragged me out, the same one who had called me 'it'. I had planned on running for it, but that word… it… that word echoed in my brain, until I couldn't think of anything else.

So I dropped on top of him, and slammed my fist into his face. Once. Twice. A third.

Someone yanked me off, and when I was pulled up, I kicked the guys face one last time. He jerked back, blood spewing everywhere as he let out a scream.

I got thrown on the ground. I've been in a circle of full grown men before, kicking the air out of my body. But they hadn't been wearing cleats. These guys were. I was only getting stomped for about twenty seconds (to keep your sanity in those situations, Tripp taught me to count the seconds) before I heard someone else, a couple people I think, shout out things like, "Get off him!" "Fucking stop!" "Assholes!" "Fucks wrong with ya, mate?"

When the kicking stopped, I looked up, and all the guys who had been stomping me where _on_ _the ground_. Other guys stood there, and they looked a bit rough around the edges. The football players were the ultimate jock stereotypes, clean shaven, pretty boys. These guys looked more like men. Like, all of them looked like men, even this one that was shorter than me.

One of them kneeled down next to me, clucking his tongue, a light Australian accent forming in his words. "Damn. Looks like they bloodied ya up fuckin good."

"Feels like it." I managed to croak out. He flipped me over so I was sitting up, and pulled the back of my shirt up, inspecting y back. "Oh fuck… yer gonna look like a mummy."

I groaned, and felt something slip into my eyes, stinging like hell. I wiped at my eyes, and my hand came back covered in blood. "Oh no."

He took my face into his hands, turning it right and left. Then he pushed my bangs out of the way. "Cut's right here. Probably needs stitches."

"I'm in so much trouble." I groaned.

The guy chuckled, "Nah mate, relax. No one's gonna believe a thin shrimp like you started a fight. Especially with the entire team here says that the pigskin shits here started it. Saw the whole thing from the hockey field."

I looked over towards where he was pointing, and saw a cement black top, only with hockey lines and barriers. Some of these guys had roller skates slung over their shoulders. "You guys play roller hockey?"

He chuckled, peeling his shirt off and pressing it against my forehead. "Nah, rink hockey. School doesn't have an ice rink. We have to practice out here during school hours, but after school we head down to the rink in town."

He pulled the shirt away, grimacing as it kept bleeding. "Yep, definitely stitches."

He nodded to the kid smaller than me, "Get the first aid kit, will ya? Let's at least get some gauze on it before we walk him through school."

Some of the foot ball players were starting to stir, and the hockey players held their sticks a bit tighter. One of them, a really tall guy with arms that could snap me in half nodded to me, "You're Mikey's little brother."

"I'm a foster kid, ain't got family." I explained.

"Yeah, yer parents are the Benetts. Arnold and Chris. Mikey was their foster kid, and he played a damn good sweeper."

The minute that last sentence was out of his mouth, the rest agreed in various ways.

"Fucking amazing sweeper."

"Saw him knock Venney to the ground with one punch."

"Blocked that last goal shot in our county finals game."

I grunted as the guy on the ground next to me poured alcohol onto my forehead, taping the soaked gauze down. "Aye, don't cry."

I jerked, glaring up at him, "I'm not fucking crying."

He snorted, helping me to my feet, "I'm surprised that you're still awake. Six down pigskin jockeys stomp yer ass into the ground, and yer still wide awake."

His eyes widened at the bandages on my forearms and elbows, "Fuck bruh. Ya get into more than one scrap today?"

I shook my head. "Dog got carried away on his walk."

"That god damn wolf is still alive!?" He hissed, "Fuck, Mikey always brought him to practice, made us chase him around the rink."

"Mikey sound like a fucking asshole." I groaned. The other guys laughed, while this guy (What is her, their captain?) steers me towards school.

"You lot get back to practice. We've got a lot of work before our first game. 9 weeks ain't even a good enough start with how you lot have slacked today." He quickened his pace, pulling me along with him. "Now hurry up, the pig fuckers are sore losers."

I just groaned, feeling the biggest migraine of my life coming on.

 **WITH DICK**

I sighed, leaning down over my table. When did Jason and Kori… hook up? Please tell me it was just a one night thing. God damn it, if Jason had a fucking relationship with my ex girlfriend, I'll kick his ass from Gotham to Metropolis.

I pulled out my tablet, clicking around to try and find Andy on GPS. I might have slipped a tracker into the red hoodie he obviously had some fondness for. But that was when I thought he was my son. If he ran away from his foster home, I wanted to be able to find him quickly.

It said he was still at school. Hadn't run off yet.

I checked y phone, to see if Raven had any updates. Nope. I can't get into contact with Starfire.

What am I going to do about Andy?


	7. Family Tradition

The school nurse was obviously not a good choice for the job. The minute she saw me, she flew into a panic. She was in such hysterics, that she couldn't even treat me. She just got on the phone and called Chris, explaining that there had been an accident at the school, and he should come down to get me.

The hockey guy just rolled his eyes, and started bandaging me up himself. He finally introduces himself as Colin, an as he tries to lift the front of my shirt up to check to see if I have any broken ribs, I push him away, "Uh, nah man."

He raised an eyebrow, "Why?"

"Uh… um, I'm trans." I mumbled.

He snorted, "Yeah, Mikey called us to tell us you were coming. Whatever. Yer a boy, and we're cool with it."

When the hell did the world become this way?

He put his hands over my ribs, putting pressure over them, "Anything hurt?"

"Everything hurts, but nothing feels broken." I groaned.

He laughed, "well, ya got stomped by six football players, varsity I think. Should be proud."

The door to the nurses officer swung open, and Chris stood there. His eyes bulged at the sight of me, one hand going over his mouth. "Oh my god… Andy?"

"It looks worse than it feels." I lied. Or maybe it was the truth. I couldn't really see myself, so I didn't know.

He rushed forward, hands tracing over the gauze wrapped around my forehead, then over the scrapes and bruises on my arms. "What the hell happened?"

"I would like to know as well." The principle walked through the door, a glare on his features. "Tell me, Andy, what provoked this attack?"

"Now hold on a minute." Chris said firmly. "Why do you think it was provoked?"

"Your foster child has more than a substantial reputation in the police department." He explained.

Chris crossed his arms, glaring at him, "All the charges against Andy were dropped."

"I didn't even start the fight!" I snapped. "They did."

He took his glasses of, rubbing them against the edge of his sleeve. "I've known Trevor Smalls for three years. He's always been an upstanding student, first to volunteer for community service, and-"

"And a rich daddy who donates to the school whenever Trevor's position as Quarterback is threatened." Colin finished.

Chris' eyes snapped to me, "Andy, what happened? Start from the beginning."

"I ditched gym class to take a nap behind the bleachers. Next thing I know, these guys are shoving me, and then when I tried to get away, they used their cleats." I explained. "Doesn't seem to matter, he's got a rich dad, and that'll make sure that the ring leader doesn't get in trouble, and by extension, none of them will."

Chris whirled around, shoving his finger in my principle's face. "You call yourself a principle?! We put our son in this school so he would be safe and learn, and on his first day he get's jumped!? And then you come in here and immediately accuse him of instigating it? Look at him! He's fifteen! He's half their height and a third of their weight!"

Did… did he just call me his son? Damn. Well, I didn't plan on calling him dad anytime soon. Nothing personal, just uh… only known him for like two days.

The principle nodded, "Mr. Bennett, I apologize. I was a bit hasty to judge, and that's on me. I am going to speak with their parents, and see what I can do."

Chris' eyes narrowed, "What you will do, is have those boys arrested. They. Attacked. My. Son. Look at him, he looks like he went through a wood chipper!"

None of my foster parents had raised such a fit because of me. Most of them didn't seem to care much. As long as I stayed out of their way, they treated me decently.

"I understand that you are upset, and you have every right to be. However, this is something boys do, I'm sure you understand that. Those other boys are children too-"

"Pretty sure most of them are eighteen." Collin sassed. "They're all at least seventeen. Law considers them adults in situations like this."

"Arrest them, or I'm calling the police myself." Chris fumed.

"A suspension seems more in order, Mr. Bennett. Children make mistakes, no reason to ruin the lives of six other kids over a fight." He rationalized.

"I don't want them to go to jail." I said.

Chris put a hand on my shoulder, gently, as if afraid the slightest pressure would hurt me, "Andy, they can't get away with this."

"I'm not becoming a poster child for trans victimization." I said firmly. I turned to the principle. "But I want mandatory therapy and some kind of equality class for those jack asses. Maybe the whole damn team."

"I'm sure we could manage something like that." He said, "I'll call the other boys parents, and get this taken care of."

He walked out, and Chris turned to me, looking me up and down, then sighed. "Let's get you to the hospital."

Collin gave my skull a gentle rap with his knuckles. "Yeah, make sure yer head isn't to jacked up. Can't have a concussion when you try out for the team."

I raised an eyebrow, "Try out?"

"Tryouts are this Friday, after school. You should come." He explained.

Chris gently guided me off the bed and out the door, "We'll talk about this later, I just really want to get him looked at."

It wasn't until we were in the car that I turned to Chris. "Did Mikey tell him to ask me to join?"

Chris shrugged, "I called Mikey and told him about you. I'm not surprised that he called his old hockey friends about you. He always had a habit or looking out for Cody, Oscar, and Patrick. Oscar and Patrick used to play hockey on that team too; Cody tried one practice and never put on blades again. I think it's just his way of welcoming you to the family."

I was silent for almost the rest of the day. Chris was already referring to me as his son. Arnold had welcomed me to the family. Cody was packing my lunches. Mikey was inviting me to take up the family tradition.

This was moving really fast, and I couldn't tell if it was all a temporary phase that would blow up the minute they got tired of me, or if it was a legitimate heartfelt offer.

 **Thanks for reading! Review please!**


	8. Parenting

Hey guys! I've done a lot of research, and talked to a lot of members of the transgender community to try and create as realistic of an experience that a ftm transgender would go through. However, there is only so much that I can accurately portray, so if anyone at all feels even slightly offended, bothered, or even just iffy about anything I write, please feel free to tell me.

If it's going to be in any way aggressive, or disrespectful, I would appreciate it if you private messaged me about it, instead of posting it in the comments for everyone to see.

Read and review please!

* * *

All the doctor did was give me stitches for the gouge on my forehead (and that fucking hurt), jokingly hand me a lollipop, and tell me that if I planned to start any sports, he would check me out for a concussion then.

On the way home, Chris was on his phone, chatting excitedly about a new building they would be renting for the charity he assisted with. It sounded like it was a really big deal, and Chris was raving about the fact it had a sizable yard for a swing set for the kids of the people who needed the charity.

At home, I collapsed on the couch, flipping through the movie channels until I settled on some animated movie about the personifications of feelings inside a girl named Riley's head. Anger was funny.

It wasn't long until Harvey walked up to me, tilting his head to the side. We locked gazes for a moment, and then he hopped up on the couch next to me. He put his paws in my lap, and his tongue started licking at my scratches and bruises. I found it a bit gross to have his spit all over my face and arms, but there was no way I could force this dog off of me.

So, I settled on watching Joy drag Sadness around Long Term Memory while the wolf gave me a bath.

 **WITH DICK:**

Bruce was stubborn as hell, as usual. Dick hadn't expected him to be easy swayed. He didn't even really object to Bruce's decision regarding Andy. "Let him have a normal life, Dick. Don't tell Jason. Don't try and contact Starfire. If the war is still going on, the she won't come back anyway."

He crossed his arms, eyes hard, "If the war has been over, and she hasn't come back for him yet, she doesn't want him."

So that's what this was about? Bruce was pissed at Starfire for leaving Andy here for so long. Dick was too, but his memories of Starfire prevented him from being as mad as Bruce seemed to be. There had to be a reason. She had to have a damn good reason for not getting Andy sooner.

Dick nodded slowly, "Maybe… maybe we should warn Chris and Arnold."

Bruce leaned back in his chair, clearly not a big fan of the idea. "What exactly do you plan on telling them?"

"I'm going to tell them that I ran Andy's DNA, and he's the child of a meta human. I'll let them know so that they can keep an eye out for any powers that may develop." Dick said firmly, standing, and going for his cell phone, "And I'll need to talk with Raven. She'll probably have a better idea of what to do after that. After all, She's known Andy longer than any of us."

 **WITH RAVEN:**

"A meta human?" Raven asked. "You think that'll cover any powers that pop up?"

"Better than saying alien." Dick defended. "I mean, worst case scenario, he get's orange skin, fiery red hair, glowing green eyes, can shot out green starbolts, fly, lift really heavy things. Seriously, meta human is becoming a really loose term these days."

Raven sighed, then spoke, "Dick, I want to meet Andy."

"Raven, I don't think-"

"Starfire left before I did." Raven said, almost shocked that those words came out of her mouth. "She walked away, and I was left looking down at this little baby girl. I just wanted to pick her up and take her back to the tower with me, to hold her, and never let her go. But Starfire made me promise… and I knew that I couldn't take care of her while I was protecting the earth. All of my friends were superheroes. I didn't know anyone who could take her. So I just put a stupid crystal around her neck, and gave her a name. That's more than Kori did but… listen, I just really need to see Andy."

Dick scratched his head, "I'll try to think of something to tell the Bennett's, maybe they'll let you meet Andy. But, Raven, what would you even talk about?"

"I'll tell him that his mother was a friend of mine, and try to answer any questions he has about her honestly, without telling him anything about… hero stuff. Or alien things."

"I'll see what I can do Raven, but honestly, I don't know if it would be good for Andy. He's just settling in, new school, new family, new everything."

Raven nearly collapsed onto her bed, the guilt starting to really creep in. "Dick…"

"Goodbye, Raven."

 **WITH ANDY**

Chris walked into the living room, ready to tell Andy that Cody had prepared dinner, but stopped dead in his tracks, a hand flying up to his mouth. He was stunned by cuteness. Andy had fallen asleep on the couch, cuddled up to Harvey. Harvey had curled himself around the boy, chin resting on top of Andy's head, and a front paw draped across his chest.

Chris walked up to his room, grabbed his camera, and walked back down to the living room, snapping a picture of the scene. The click made Harvey open his eyes, and then close them lazily again. Andy remained unconscious, not even stirring.

Chris practically floated out of the room. Andy could eat when he woke up. Chris had a picture to develop and frame.

It wasn't until hours later, when he was settled down in bed with his tablet, Arnold next to him, nose buried in a book, that he checked his phone. There was a text from an unknown number.

 _Mr. Bennett, I am the officer who caught your foster son, Andy. I've uncovered some information on his biological mother, and I would like to speak with you about it. I'll leave it up to you if you want to tell Andy afterwards. – Officer Grayson_

Chris reached over, nudging Arnold. "Babe."

Arnold took the phone, reading the message, and frowning. "It's probably about some medical issue, something she might have passed down to him."

Chris bit his bottom lip, then nodded, "Yeah, probably. I just have a bad feeling."

Arnold sighed, leaning over to kiss Chris' cheek. "You worry too much."

Chris started typing, "I'm gonna meet him tomorrow for coffee."

"Do you want me to come?" Arnold asked.

"You have a health inspector reviewing your restaurant tomorrow. It's just coffee and some trivial information about Andy's mother." Chris waved off. "Still, should we tell Andy?"

"If Officer Grayson wants to talk to you about it alone, then you talk to him alone. If you think it's something he needs to know, we'll tell him after."

Chris leaned back on his pillow, frowning at the ceiling. "Oh no, what if his mom is dead?"

Arnold closed his book, setting it on the nightstand along with his glasses. He reached over, running a hand through Chris' hair. "Listen, Andy seems like a really level headed, realistic kid. I'm sure he's considered that."

Chris rolled over, wrapping his arms around Arnold's chest, nuzzling hi face into his neck. "I know… I just… he's already been through so much."

Arnold pulled Chris closer, "He's safe now. I know it might be painful for him to find out the truth after all this time, but that might be the best thing. He's got a fresh start where no one knows who he is. It's probably best for him to clean those skeletons out of closet, and put some nice new polo's there instead."

Chris rolled his eyes, "Nice metaphor."

"Not really a metaphor. You really did fill his closet with polos."

"He has to own something other than t-shirts!" Chris hissed.


	9. Chef Fail

"You're sure you wanna go to school today?" Chris asked as Cody put a bowl in front of me.

"I know this is gonna be good. I woke up at five to start this. It'll be amazing. It's shredded oats with honey, cream, and a sinfully delicious mixture of puréed strawberries, raspberries, and cherries." He puffed out his chest proudly.

"I'm sure." I said firmly. "The last thing I need to do right now is give up turf."

"I find its best served with a side of pumpernickel toast, to counteract the sweetness of the dish." Cody said, gesturing to the plate in the center, with about ten pieces of toast stacked on it.

Chris frowned, "Andy, you're not on the streets anymore, this isn't a turf war."

"I also brewed some tea this morning; I ground the jasmine for it myself last week." He said, setting a kettle on the table.

"I know how dumb jocks think. If I take off today, they'll say I'm a coward. If I go to school today, all they'll be able to say is that I got my ass kicked." I brushed my fingers over my stitches. "It's all about what I'm gonna allow people to say about me."

"This is only half of what I made, the other hale I take to class with me today, to be graded, and I'd really like an opinion on it."

Chris reached over the table, squeezing my hand, "Just be careful, ok? I'd feel better if we rearranged your classes a little."

"Like how?"

"Higher levels. How about AP English?"

"Isn't that for geniuses?"

"How do you know you aren't one? You need to challenge yourself, Andy."

"Alright, I'll try it. Anything else?"

He nodded, "I still have a lot of Mickey's old hockey gear in the basement."

I frowned, "Why does everyone want me to play hockey?"

I had bigger plans for school than hockey. The bastards that jumped me yesterday needed a very quick and harsh message, regarding what happens to anyone who touches me. I knew how to work the streets, a high school shouldn't be that much different.

"Because it gets you out of gym class," Cody yelled, "And away from attempts to jack up your pretty little face again! Now eat your breakfast and please tell me it's perfect!"

Stunned, I grabbed my spoon, and shoveled about three bites in before I discovered the fatal flaw in Cody's weird ass oatmeal. It was way too thick.

I grabbed for the kettle, pouring myself a cup, but when I tried to drink it, it burned my tongue. Not to mention it smelled awful. Like if a construction worker got down with a eighteen hour day, his armpit was rubbed with toothpaste and rotten flower petals.

I couldn't swallow it. I rushed for the kitchen sink, spitting it out. Behind me, I heard Cory fall onto the floor, and start sobbing.

 **AT SCHOOL:**

AP English 1 went be pretty fast. They were reading a series of short stories called the Canterbury Tales, the current one being The Wife of Bath. Unlike my last class, they could read out loud without stuttering over every third word.

Come PE, the coach zeroed in on me the second I walked in. He made a bee line to me, putting a hand on my shoulder, and steering me into his office. He locked his door, and shut the blinds.

No, I've heard of a pedophilic priest before, but not a pedophilic coach. He turned around to look at me, a glare resting firmly on his face. "I don't need kids sneaking out and getting me in trouble."

Oh.

"You wanna know the only reason I don't have you in detention for a month for pulling shit like that?" He asked, settling down into his chair.

I shrugged, crossing my arms and raising my chin.

"You're Mikey's little brother." He pointed to a framed newspaper clipping on the wall. The school's hockey team stood there, a boy with spiky blonde hair in the middle, holding a big ass trophy. "When Mikey was captain of our hockey team, we won state. He worked those boys every day after school, until it was impossible for them not to win."

"I've never played hockey." I said, interrupting his unspoken wish of a new Mikey. "Unless you count bashing some guys brains out with a lead pipe in Crime Alley, and running off with his wallet."

He went silent, staring at me like I had told him I murdered someone. Oh… yeah. I did. "If I go to try outs Friday, I need a favor in return."

"What?"

"I imagine some of the kids around here talk loud enough in the locker room for you to overhear. I wanna know which kids are into what."

His first move was denial. "I don't ever see any evidence of drug deals, if that's what you're after."

"But you're smart enough to know which kids would be doing it if there were any." I gestured to the picture of Mikey. "I actually read up on your sports teams here. Seems none of them are doing well. Football team is the laughing stock of all high schools in Gotham, hell, all of your teams are, except your hockey team. But even they're on a very slippery slope. I imagine, as the coach, any raises or bonuses in your salary are dependent on teams that win."

He gave me a very long look, weighing out the situation, trying to decide if it was worth the information I was asking for. "If anyone in this school is dealing, it's either Gavin Thompson, or Beth Howard."

"Thank you. I'll see you on Friday."

Now it was just a matter of getting something on Gavin and Beth.

 **WITH CHRIS**

Officer Grayson was waiting for me at the coffee shop we agreed on. He waved to me from across the room, smiling. I honestly didn't trust his smile. It just seemed a bit off.

"Mr. Bennet." He greeted as I sat down. "How is Andy settling in?"

"He got jumped yesterday, but he's making a legitimate effort to fit in. he's trying out for hockey Friday."

Officer Grayson raised an eyebrow, "Jumped?"

"Long story, I'd rather not get into it." I waved off. "What is it you wanted to tell me about?"

Officer Grayson scanned the room, and then leaned forward, speaking softly. "How much do you know about meta humans?"

I frowned. "Not much. Is this some kind of a prank?"

"No. Years ago, during a fight in Jump City, a meta human was injured, and her DNA ended up in the criminal database. Chris, I ran Andy's DNA illegally, off the books, and according to the results, Andy is the son of that Titan."

They ran Andy's DNA illegally? This… this can't be true. I mean, Andy is normal. Well, not normal, but he isn't half robot, or green, and he doesn't have an obsession with disco collars. "Officer Grayson, this is ridiculous. If you're going to say things like that, I don't think you should come around Andy anymore."

"Chris, I'm not lying, and if you want a paper copy of the results, I can get you one. But I'm not looking to tell Andy any of this, or expose him as a possible meta human. I just wanted to warn you about certain… traits you might want to watch out for."

He isn't lying… Andy might really be a meta human. No, that's ridiculous. The weirdest thing Andy does is refuse to tell anyone whenever he's the victim of bigotry. "What traits?"

"Reports said flying, inhuman strength, and one man reported that she made some type of green energy, and was able to throw it at people and things. It destroyed a car." He said slowly. "Chris, I don't know if these traits will show up in Andy, but if they do, I have a friend who runs a program for kids like these, and he could help Andy."

I got up, grabbing my bag. "Officer Grayson, if Andy shows these traits, nothing changes. He's still my son. He still lives in my house. And I'll still crush the first person who tries to change that."

I walked out, texting Arnold to take the night off of work. He needed to come home, immediately. I might have talked a big game in there, and I meant it, I really did, but I still have to make sure that Arnold is on board with this.

 **WTH ANDY:**

I wanted to do my homework in my room, but Harvey didn't let me. I am not kidding you, every time I tried to get up from the living room couch and go to my room, he would shove me back down. So I gave up after like ten minutes, and just accepted that this dog was the boss.

"Hey Andy." Arnold said, walking into the living room. "That homework?"

"Yeah." I mumbled. "English essay."

"What's it on?"

"The Wife of Bath." I said, "Due by Friday."

"What's it about?"

"It was about this knight who raped a girl in the forest. The only reason he got in trouble for it was because one of her family members was in the king's court, her uncle, I think. And the king handed over is sentencing to the queen. So she tells the knight he has one year to find the answer to her question, or he will be put to death. Her question is 'What is it all women want, more than anything?'. So he goes off on this year long journey, and it isn't until he's walking back to the castle, that some old lady tells him that she'll tell him the answer, but he owes her a favor. So she tells him the answer that women want to have equal power to men. He tells the queen, she spares his life, and the old lady comes back to claim her favor. She makes him marry her, and he gets really depressed about having to marry an old chick. But she finally tells him that he can either have her as an old lady, who will forever be a dedicated wife who would be faithful to him, or as a young wife who would cheat on him all the time. He told her she could chose, and because he gave her equal power in their relationship, she turned into a young beautiful wife who was also faithful, and the unpunished rapist gets a happily ever after."

Arnold slowly sank down onto the coach, "When I was your age… we read Little Women… now they're having you read stories about rape?"

"We read Macbeth next. I hear it's about mass murder. He says that essay will be about who the real protagonist is." I explained.

"What is this essay about?"

"Whether justice was served, or he got off to easy." I said, "In my opinion, he did. I mean, I guess he respects women now, but where is the justice for the rape victim? I Googled it, and back then, since she's not a virgin anymore, she probably won't get married, and women didn't really own property, so her life was going to be shit."

Arnold took his glasses off, folded them up and gestured towards me with them. "I like your viewpoint. Anyone else in class agree with you?"

"All the liberals."

He laughed, gabbing his chest as he gasped for air. "Andy… that's… funny as hell!"

I nodded, closing my binder. "Cody thought so too. He failed his test today."

Arnold's giggles stopped almost immediately. "Oh no."

"He locked himself in the kitchen… he says he isn't coming out." I whispered. Harvey got up from the floor, crawling his way onto my life, and rolling over onto his back. I obliged his want of a belly rub.

"How bad was his food?" Arnold whispered back.

"The oatmeal was good, it was just too thick. And the tea tasted like hot sewage."

Arnold groaned, rubbing his temples, warding off the oncoming migraine. "I swear, that boy has the lowest self esteem…"

Cody walked in, swiping off his sunglasses an setting his bag (it's a fucking purse, I don't know why he can't admit that) down on the coffee table, "What's wrong?"

Arnold put his glasses back on, "Cody failed his test today."

"Locked himself in the kitchen again?" Chris asked.

Arnold nodded.

"I'll see if he's talking." Chris said, walking towards the kitchen. I heard him knock on the kitchen door, "Cody? Sweetheart? Are you in there?"

No answer.

"Cody, I know you're upset sweetie, but you can't lock yourself in the kitchen forever. All our food is in there. And you're gonna have to use the bathroom eventually."

"I'M A FAILURE!"

Arnold flinched, and Harvey let out a whine. Cody was turning out to be quite a mixed bag of nuts.

I frowned, looking at Arnold. "What are we going to eat?"

"I have no idea."


	10. Mikey's Visit

Two hours later, Chris was kneeling in front of the kitchen door, still trying to convince Cody to come out. "Listen, I'm sure all great chefs have bad days. This is something you're just going to have to bounce back from, it's part of the career-"

"HE SAID MY TEA WAS LIKE PISS WATER MIXED WITH DIRT!"

"Accurate description." I mumbled. Arnold gave me a look from over the top of his newspaper, titled Air Force Times. I know it was mean to be that blunt about Cody's tea, but I was hungry. Cody hadn't packed my lunch, and after tasting his food, I had vowed to never eat school cafeteria slop again.

Chris sighed, walking back into the living room. "I don't think he's coming out tonight."

"Do we break the door down and make our own dinner?" I asked.

Chris shook his head, pulling out his cell phone. "Cody's been with us so long, I hardly remember how to cook for myself."

Arnold grunted. "Pity too. Your waffles were better than his are."

"Shh!" Chris glared at Arnold as he walked back towards the kitchen. "Let me try one last thing."

He leaned against the door frame, trying to look nonchalant, but it was ruined by his smirk. "Cody, I'm gonna order from Dominos, do you want a sandwich, or a pasta bread bowl?"

I perked up, the idea of a piece of bread stuffed with cheese, chicken, and pasta making me forget about being pissed off at Cody. "Can I get a pasta bread bowl with triple cheese?"

Suddenly, the kitchen door flung open, and Chris' phone was slapped out of his hand, "Don't you dare!"

Cody retreated back into the kitchen with Chris' phone, slamming the door shut. I was about to go barrel through it, but Chris pressed his ear to the door, and grinned. "I heard pots moving! What's on the menu tonight, Chef Cody?"

"Pork chops sautéed in onions and mushrooms, hopping jack rice, and southern style sweet tea!" Came his reply, bursting with enthusiasm.

"So… the only way to get him over a bad grade is to remind him that at least he makes better food than dominos?" I asked.

Arnold nodded, "Sometimes we have to stoop to McDonalds, but it's been months since it was that bad."

"What was so bad he needed McDonalds?" I asked, nearly afraid of the answer.

"His teacher, Chef Alejandro, tasted his chicken curry, promptly picked up the pot, and dumped it all onto the floor, then proclaimed it wasn't fit for the worms in his grandmothers grave."

I groaned, "Why is he being taught by Chef fucking Ramsey?"

I didn't even see him move, but I felt him slap the back of my head.

I whirled around, "Hey!"

My protest withered on the spot. The look he was giving me was unlike anything I had ever seen. Eyes narrowed, chin out, mouth drawn into a taut line as he looked down on me. "Watch. Your. Language."

"Yes, sir." He nodded, and his gaze did a complete 180, turning back to his Air Force Times.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell… look, I'm not some kid who goes around rebelling for the hell of it because he hated authority in every form, but I don't say 'Yes, sir' like a little bitch when I get smacked.

I leaned back against the couch, stewing over how fast he had gotten me to say that, without even asking me to. How had he done it? I don't think I've said 'Yes, sir' once in my life. Arnold isn't exactly intimidating… for the love of god he owned a night club, and wore Khaki shorts.

I was so caught up in my own thoughts, I didn't hear the doorbell ring, but I did hear Chris open the front door and shout, "Mikey!"

The name immediately brought images of hockey skates, trophies, and fire trucks. Arnold perked up in his seat, folding his paper up. "Mikey?"

Harvey woke up from napping in my lap, ears at attention. In through the door walked Mikey. Spiky blonde hair, fire department tshirt, baggy cargo pants and worn out sneakers. "Hey Dads. Harvey!"

Harvey jumped up off my lap and dove down at Mikey's feet, rolling over to expose his stomach. Mikey kneeled down, obliging his request for a belly rub. "Missed ya too boy!"

Cody called out from the kitchen, "Mikey, do you want green peppers or red?"

"Green!" He responded, standing up and turning to face me. "So, you're the guy who tried to fight the whole football team?"

"No, I'm the guy who got his ass kicked by the whole football team. Literally. They were wearing cleats."

He grinned, "Sounds like an ass kicking. Collin had fun pulling you out of there, but let's make sure he doesn't have to rally the whole team to save your ass again."

He extends a hand to pull me up, and I accept it. Once I'm on my feet, he steers me towards the basement door. "Let's go dig out my stuff."

 **ONE HOUR LATER:**

Chris, Arnold, and Cody were sitting on the front porch, dining on patio furniture. Mikey and me were both strapped up in padding, helmets, skates, and sticks with a puck going back and forth between us at varying speeds.

"Try not to look when you pass." He encouraged. "Don't let the other team know who you're sending the puck to. Even better, you look at a different team mate while passing to your partner."

I forced myself to look away from Mikey while I awkwardly passed the puck to him. He was barely able to capture the puck himself before hitting it into the rickety goal he had set up in the street. "That's it, just keep moving."

I had skated plenty of times before, when I was bored. I had yet to try ice skating, and I wasn't dumb enough to think that it would be the same. Mikey squared off against me, "Remember, when you get hit, your top priority is staying on your feet."

He rushed me, and I slid to the side real quick, ducking under the fist he flailed out. "Nice! Try this one."

He came at me faster this time, and I couldn't miss his fist this time. I fell back flat on my ass, cursing under my breath as he circled me. "Back up!"

He kept doing it, charging me and knocking me down a ridiculous number of times. "Is it really in the rules that you can punch someone?"

"Not if you have gloves on." He said. "And it's called a check. You can flail your arm out, but if the ref sees you punching, he'll put you in the box. You can't use your stick to hit them if you have both hands on it, and absolutely no checking them from behind. Only check the guy who has the puck, and try to throw him into the walls, not the ground. If he falls the ref might call a time out to check on him, and if he does, it slows down the game."

I sighed, "This is more complicated than it looks on TV."

He chuckled, passing the puck to me. "Who's your team?"

"Gotham Blades." I said confidently. "Chicago Black Hawks are a close second."

"I would have accepted any team other than the Metropolis Mammoths." I shot the puck into the goals, and Mikey grunted. "Needs to make it faster. The swing is less about force and more about form. Keep your arms in the right position, use a little muscle and let gravity do the rest."

I fished the puck out from the met, nearly tangling my stick up in the process, and them clumsily skated backwards, lining up for the shot. Following Mikey's instructions, I tried to just give a little push as my arms fell down in a curve. I barely saw the puck move across the road, but I definitely heard it crash into the back of the goal.

Mikey punched me in the shoulder, grinning. "That a boy!"

Chris called out from the front porch, "That's enough practice for tonight! You both need to eat… and shower. You probably smell really bad by now."

Mikey slung his arm over my shoulder, rubbing his armpit on top of my head, "Smell that? Smells like hard work!"

I shoved him off of me, "What the piss man!?"

He shoved me back, "Get used to it, locker room smells worse."

His tone was joking, and that was the only thing that kept me from jumping him.

Hockey tryouts were Friday, which meant I only had tomorrow to get the football team in check. After that, I needed to get right back on the straight and narrow. It sounded corny, but I had tasted the 'good life' so to speak. A brownstone, a family that was far from normal, but very nice to me, and I was close to stepping into the white boy jock stereotype. I had a bed, a white picket fence, food every day, and even a dog.

I was not going to fuck it up and go back to the streets. While they had their appeal of freedom, they had their promise of poverty for the short term, and everyone with half a brain knew that the streets only retirement program either came with cuffs or a coffin.

They want me in advanced classes? Done. They want to have another star hockey player? Done. If they wanna cut the mop top I call my hair, it's done.

They at least accepted me for the gender I am. That's unheard of in a foster home. There was nothing I'd risk messing this up for.

* * *

For those who don't yet know, my lengthy absence is due to enlisting in the Air Force. I am now in Tech School, and I finally have free time and internet access, so count on more updates. :)

Hey Joe, this is your Christmas present!


	11. Theives And Dealers

I never really had any issues with stealing. I knew how to plan it out, how fast to enter, how much time I had inside, and how much time I had to get out. It was a subject I obsessed about to avoid failing an getting caught/arrested. But unlike swiping a hot dog from a vendor, or breaking into someones apartment to find something to sell to a pawn shop, this was much more simple. And by default, it made me way more nervous. By far, walking into Arnold's bathroom and raiding his medicine cabinet was the hardest thing I'd ever done. Now for the easy part.

Gavin Thompson or Beth Howard…

I had Acting 1 with Beth, and she seemed to be the typical social butterfly. Unfortunately for her, being a social butterfly in high school meant at the very least dabbling in narcotics. Maybe in a few years she'd realize that with high school ending, drugs didn't guarantee you friends, and she'd get her life together. Or maybe she'd desperately cling to them, unable to adapt to real life, and end up on the streets. Let some guy pop her so she could pop pills.

The other choice was Gavin Thompson. I didn't know him, but I had seen him around. Just from seeing the people he hung out with, I knew he wasn't like Beth. He wasn't a 'social dealer' he was trying to make it his job. He likely had more of what the public called 'hard core' drugs, and what I called 'not even once' drugs. His friends weren't the popular crowd, they were the guys who had already taken so many 'not even once' drugs that they barely had half a brain left. They had one foot in the grave already, and the other foot was looking shaky.

While the thought of sending Trevor Smalls into a coma with meth or LSD sounded pretty damn good whenever I felt a wave of pain from the gash on my forehead, it wasn't what my rational mind wanted. I didn't want him dead, or addicted, I just want his reputation at school ruined. I don't ever want him to walk down the halls thinking he owned this school ever again. Once I was through with him, he would be lucky to walk down the halls with his head down, minding his own business and not get heckled.

So, it came down to who had what I wanted, who likely dealt to the football team, and who would be easier to manipulate.

"Hey, Beth!" I channeled what charm I had learned from Tripp to present what I hoped was a cocky grin. Seemed to be the kind of guys she was into.

She was studying a script from Cinderella; I think her next performance in class was supposed to be a monologue from the evil stepsister. I hadn't seen it yet. Her face was clenched up in disgust, maybe from trying to get in character, maybe from a shitty plot. She looked up from it when I called her, and her face relaxed into ignorant happiness. "Hi, your Andy, right?"

I nodded, "Yeah. I just transferred in from Star City, and I was wondering if you could help me out with a little problem."

She nodded, moving over on the stage prop she had been using as a bench. It was cheap plywood and rags, sewn and painted expertly to look like a Victorian couch. I sat down next to her, praying the wood wouldn't break. "What's wrong?"

"I'm trying out for the hockey team tomorrow, and I've never played competitively. It's just… this is a new school, and I don't really know anybody." I lowered my gaze to the floor, trying to look like an insecure teenager. Didn't take much work. "I just want a way to fit in… and my parents really want me to make the team, and I want them to be proud of me, and I know it's not fair if I cheat like this every time but… but I think I could be really good, I just need to get on the team first."

By the time I'd finished my sentence, I could tell she was already hooked on my sob story. "Oh, Andy! Playing Hockey really means that much to you?"

I nodded, sighing. "All of my brothers play. My parents expect me to play too. I don't know what I'll do if I don't make the team."

She glanced around, probably checking to see if there was anyone listening in, and then leaned in close to my ear. "I've got something that can help you out. Just meet me after class in the boys bathroom."

"Boys?" I questioned.

"Of course, girls get way to chatty about shit they see."

So, I suffered my way through reading script after script to see if I could find one to perform without grimacing, and finally settled on Tom Wingfield yelling at his mother from The Glass Menagerie. I could probably portray a guy in his twenties, in a dead end job, in a crowded city, trying to live a life he hates.

I went to turn in my choice to the teacher, and she squinted at the page, then looked up at me, "Dear, I specifically said to choose a monologue from a character of your own gender."

Oh fuck me. "I did."

She took off her glasses, looking at me in that disapproving way that only old people could. Old people that have been through shit. The depression, some big war, things like that. "Listen, Anya-" No. No no no. Not this again, please. "This costume you've got going on is fine when your with your friends and family, but in the professional world, it won't be tolerated. My job as a teacher is to prepare you for the professional world. When you do work here in class, it needs to be signed with your real name, and you need to read female monologues."

"My name is Andy. I am a boy."

"Well, on your birth certificate-"

"It also says six pounds three ounces, but a lot of things have changed." I snapped. "I'm not asking you to understand this, in your generation, things like this didn't happen. Well, they did, but they were just either kept secret, for fear of being murdered by intolerant people like you. What I'm expecting is for you to treat me with respect. Intentionally calling me by a name a gender I do not identify as, you are disrespecting me. You can get over that, or I can spend the rest of my time in this class calling you Sir, and Mr. It's entirely up to you."

She was silent for a moment, before reaching for my script and signing off on it. "You need to have it memorized by next Friday."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Beth met me in the boys bathroom, as arranged, after class. "Dude! I cannot believe you put Mrs. Shelley in her place! Do you know how many times she's dissed me for being gay?"

Well, that was news. "Uh, we'll totally diss her later, but, do you have the… stuff?"

"Oh, yeah! Here." She reached into her pink and black cheetah print duffle bag, pulling out a small white bottle. "You take three a day, once every meal. Make sure to drink a lot of water though, these will kill your kidneys."

I smirked, pulling my phone out form behind my back and making sure the camera got a good shot of her face. "Perfect, thanks Beth."

She froze, "Wh-what?"

"I've got it all on video. You, trying to give me steroids. But don't worry, I won't give it to anyone, as long as you do me a favor."

She didn't seem quite over her shock yet to ask what that favor was, so I continued. "These pills, you supply the football team? Varsity? Trevor Smalls in particular?"

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, I do." She mumbled.

"You're going to replace all their steroids with these." I pulled a clear orange pill bottle out of my pocket. "These are called statin. They're designed for people with high cholesterol, and the side effects are going to make sure Trevor and his goons lose every game they have until they stop taking them."

She looked even more frightened, so I tried to clear it up, "No worries, death isn't one of them. Loss of sleep, extreme muscle soreness, abdominal cramps, headaches, dizziness, vomiting, enough to throw him off his game."

"Where did you even get these?" She whispered.

I raided Arnold's medicine cabinet this morning, officially betraying the only people who have ever cared about me. "Not your concern. Now that the facts are all on the table, do we have a deal?"

She shakily reached out for the bottle, nodding slowly. "Please don't tell on me."

"I won't. Now, for your own safety, you might wanna stop this drug dealer thing before it goes too far. After you give these to Trevor, of course."

She nodded, "Are we done here?"

"You're free to go."

She took off, and I headed to the gym to put on Mikey's old Hockey gear for tryouts.

"That's where it ends." I told myself. "Straight and narrow. Straight and narrow."


End file.
